


no doubt

by parkjinchu



Series: kim, yoon, and moon [2]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Bullying, Doubt, baby sanha cries too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:17:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkjinchu/pseuds/parkjinchu
Summary: Yoon Sanha cried too much, and Myungjun wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.this is a work of fiction, and in no way represents the real lives of astro's members. in case of astro/fantagio/reasonable fan request, this fic will be taken downread full disclaimer on my profile





	no doubt

**Author's Note:**

> heyyyoo im back life is SO stressful at the moment so im surprised im even able to post anything lol  
> i got another oneshot for this series coming and im working slowly on misplaced pieces because i realy want to bring it back!! anyway!! bye lol
> 
> [if you havent read mr. moon and me thats fine but this probably wont make a lot of sense]

Babies’ cries are loud and shrill.

Myungjun had read that he would get used to the sound, and that he would learn the differences between each one and what they meant – but Sanha had lived three long months, and he didn’t know how much longer he could handle it.

He had taken the baby to the doctor’s, fretting over the thought that something could be wrong with him. An infection, an irregular organ, a heart or lung disease? “Some babies just cry,” the doctor had said, dismissively, as Myungjun had bounced the weeping baby resting against his chest. The doctor pasted a bright blue sticker on Sanha’s slightly dirty jumpsuit, and shrugged.

Sanha didn’t _just cry_ , though. His cries were ear-piercing and blood curdling, and they lasted all night, and into the moments when Myungjun left Sanha alone. No matter what Myungjun seemed to do, his little brother rarely seemed to stop. There was little that could quell his tears.

Heavy in his limbs, drowning his lungs; stress was building and building within Myungjun. Between part-time jobs, university, and a new-born baby, Myungjun hadn’t had time to grieve for their mother. There was one evening when Sanha would not stop crying, and Myungjun too had broken down.

He had cradled the baby by the window, let the pale moonlight and the orange streetlight wash over Sanha’s round little face, and had cried with him. He had never been quite sure what made Sanha cry so much, but as they cried together, Myungjun holding him by his heartbeat, Sanha had quietened.

“I miss mum, Sanha,” he’d confessed to the baby, whose tiny, warm palms had curled up as he stretched. He wondered if Sanha misses her, too. If Sanha misses the women he knew well, yet never met. “She loved you very much, you know?” He said, pressing a kiss to Sanha’s forehead. “I’ll do my best to do be half as amazing as she was.”

The following day, he had cancelled his university education, determined to give Sanha the best life he could in their situation. With a bit of extra time, Myungjun was able to spend more time with Sanha, more time _for_ Sanha.

It seemed to make the boy happy. At the very least, he cried a little less.

Saturday morning. Myungjun had fallen into the habit of working throughout the week, and dedicating his weekends to his brother. The warm Saturday morning sun shimmers in through the nursery window, warming up the backs of Myungjun’s legs as he leans over the cot railing and peers down at his brother.

Sanha rests on his back beneath the blankets, his little legs kicking and squirming. In these moments, when Sanha is a bubbly baby boy, and not screeching at the top of his tiny little lungs, Myungjun feels peaceful. He reaches his arm down into the cot, runs his fingers along Sanha’s velvety smooth and caramel skin. He marvels at how small a person can be, his rice-grain fingernails, his budding-pea toes. Sanha still smells like a new-born, that sweet, musky scent that lingers on his head. Myungjun adores it, breathes it in through his nose and savours it.

Sanha’s eye are round and sparkling, cheeks rosy and chubby. His lips pout, with the sweet divot beneath his cupid’s bow that most babies have, pink and wet like the inside of a strawberry. Sanha peers up at Myungjun, as if he had hung the stars, as if he had been the one to welcome him into the world and give him this life. Myungjun hadn’t – their mother had, and Myungjun wasn’t sure this life would be so great for his little brother. He feels a little guilty, as the baby looks up at him, features drowning in innocence.

They remain like this for a while, until Sanha starts to gurgle with hunger. Myungjun is prepping some formula powder and sticking it in the microwave, when his phone rings. Carefully, he tucks Sanha into the rocking bassinet on the floor and reaches for his phone. On the screen, an old high school friend of his’ name appears.

Myungjun swallows – he had tried to make time for his high school friends since Sanha was born, but it was hard. They were busy, he was busier. They were out in the world, achieving their dreams, and no eighteen-year-old wanted to care for a baby when they could be studying, or partying.

He sighs, flipping open the phone and pressing it to his ear. “Hello?”

A familiar voice crackles down the line, “ _Hey man, it’s Haneul! What’s up?_ ”

“Not much,” Myungjun lies, casually. He peers down at Sanha, who is toying with the hem of his jumpsuit. “What about you?”

“ _Oh, you know – uni’s uni, what can you do?_ ” He laughs, pausing. “ _How’s your study going?_ ”

Myungjun chews on his lip. “Oh, I… I had to give it up, it was too much.”

“ _You dropped out?_ ” Haneul mutters, judgement simmering in his tone.

“Yeah, I kinda had to, with the baby and all.”

“ _Oh, I see, yeah._ ” There’s a shifting on the other end of the line, or a sigh – Myungjun can’t tell. Haneul is quick to move on, “ _Anyway, we’re having a get together, next week, and you never hang out with us anymore. Wanna come? It’s just at my place._ ”

“I don’t know, Haneul,” Myungjun mumbles, crouching to his knees and sifting his fingers through Sanha’s wispy clump of hair on his head. The baby beats his eyelashes at him, “With Sanha, it’s kinda hard to do anything, just now.”

“ _Oh, come on,_ ” he says, a little agitated. “ _Everyone’s gonna be there! Bring the kid, we won’t care._ ”

His friends had been pressuring him for weeks to spend time with him, ignoring how hard it was to care for a baby. Something churned within him, listening to Haneul chat with such a blasé attitude. Was he replaceable? Forgettable? If he didn’t show up, would they finally give up on him?

“Sure, then. I’ll come, just for a bit.”

“ _Sweet, I’ll see you then!_ ” With that, the line goes dead.

Myungjun huffs, putting his phone back on the counter. The microwave beeps, and he takes the bottle out, letting it cool in the air. He hovers over Sanha again, pressing a faint kiss to his brow. “I hope everything will turn out for us, baby,” he whispers.

Sanha blinks back at him.

 

*

 

Myungjun packs the baby bag, stuffing it with nappies, bottles, pacifiers, rags, clothes, toys, wipes. He hoists it over his shoulder, feeling the weight of it pinch his lower back. He tugs a little coat around Sanha’s arms, tightens the carrier around his chest, and carefully straps Sanha inside.

Sanha gurgles on the walk, limbs flailing as he’s up against Myungjun’s chest, and Myungjun holds a one-sided conversation with him. Together, they wait in the shade of the bus-stop, and Myungjun pulls out the tiny fabric hat that used to be his own, pulling the elastic underneath Sanha’s chin. Sanha’s eyes twinkle as he is bounced gently, and stare out the bus window in wonder as the world whisks by them on the bus.

Myungjun hopes, today, Sanha will be fine. That he won’t cry, or be a disturbance.

His hope doesn’t last long.

It’s a bit noisy at Haneul’s place – he was right, everyone was there. His friends already got a few drinks out and were chatting playfully, catching up. Myungjun feels like a sore-thumb as soon as he enters the room, the weight of a whole new life strapped to his chest, whilst his friends play freely.

Sanha is restless against his chest, whining a little and stuffing his face against Myungjun’s t-shirt. Myungjun manages to keep him calm for the first few minutes, chatting with his friends and bouncing slightly to keep the baby happy. His friends greet them with excitement and joy, fussing over the baby in his arms. Sanha seems not to mind the attention at first, eyes wide as he analyses every new face with intrigue. Soon enough, however, his resolve crumbles. He squirms in Myungjun’s arms, whining and shrieking and wailing.

His friends hover around the weeping baby, trying their own attempts at settling him down, but their efforts are to no avail. Myungjun tries to feed Sanha from one of the bottles, but he pulls his head away from it. Myungjun bounces and burps him, but Sanha simply wails and flails in his arms. He sets the portable bassinet down in the corner and attempts to put him to sleep, but Sanha continues to cry.

His friends are getting tired. _He_ is tired.

Myungjun sweeps the baby bag up and shuts himself and Sanha into the bathroom, sliding the lock shut. As it clicks into place, Sanha wails loudly. Splaying towels out across the bench, he carefully rests the boy down, preparing to change his nappy – but it doesn’t need changing.

“Sanha…” Myungjun grumbles, discarding the old nappy anyway and sliding a new one over his kicking little legs. Sanha settles down a little, at the sound of his voice. The noise of the party is a distant echo through the bathroom tiles, and Myungjun talks softly to the baby. “Come on, San… Please, cooperate.”

Sanha gurgles in response, his tiny, starfish hands grasping up at his older brother.

“My friends are getting annoyed,” he explains, however futile. He tucks Sanha’s arms back into his jumpsuit, back into his coat. “Please, just for another hour or so. Then, then you can cry as much as you want.”

Sanha had stopped – it seemed like a mutual agreement, until Myungjun packed up and stepped back out into the party, where Sanha burst into tears again.

“Why won’t he stop crying?” Someone complains, as Myungjun apologises, the baby pressed against his heart and the heat of his chest.

“I’ve tried everything I can think of!” Myungjun responds, taking a seat on the lounge, bouncing the round bundle in his lap and watching fat tears roll over the plush of his cheeks. “He won’t even take the pacifier,” he defends himself to his friends, who scoff as they watch on. They don’t understand – they couldn’t understand.

“Why’d you even take him?” Haneul spits, from his place in the corner of the room.

The room stills, atmosphere tightening. Myungjun feels his skin prickle. The only noise for a few seconds is Sanha’s wailing.

“He’s still young, you could probably put him up,” Haneul continues, obnoxiously loud over the cries.

“Put him up?” Myungjun asks, shuffling the baby so his chin rests on his shoulder.

A smug, proud smile flourishes on Haneul’s face, “For adoption,” he supplies. He’s vain enough to look proud of himself. “I think it’s still possible,” he nods vaguely in the direction of Sanha, in his arms, as if the baby was a mere object.

A girl hooks her arm over Haneul’s, tries to pull him away, but he stands still, tall and satisfied.

Myungjun stammers, mouth blubbering like a fish out of water. “I – I – I couldn’t do that,” he stutters. Sanha weeps against him as he shifts.

“Jesus, Myungjun!” Haneul groans, his head tipping back. “He ruined your future. You dropped out of school because of him. What’s the point?” He drawls, pointing an accusing finger at Sanha, at the _baby_. “You’ll never get anywhere, and it’ll be _his_ fault.” As they fall from his mouth, his words hang, strung in the air. The silence in the room was dense, and heavy, and Myungjun felt dizzy.

Was Haneul right? Was Sanha really the one thing in the way of everything Myungjun wanted? He could hardly afford to eat for the whole week, was balancing two jobs and had given up on a university degree, and this _baby_ , who wasn’t even his, and who he was not prepared to have, in the slightest. He holds Sanha in his hands and considers Haneul’s words.

He can feel the eyes of everyone in the room on him, awaiting his next move. Sanha is sniffling against the bend of his neck, having quietened as the room had.

Perhaps. Perhaps Sanha _was_ the roadblock between the present and the future of his dreams. Perhaps he never wanted Sanha.

But, Sanha loved him, and had grown attached to him. Sanha was almost all he had left of their mother, too. Besides – orphanages are no place for children who have a chance, and he was Sanha’s last.

Despite what he thought, despite all the stress and pain, Myungjun loved Sanha, too.

Myungjun stands, snatching Sanha’s hat from the table and stuffing it on the baby’s head. “Fuck you,” he spits at Haneul, hoisting the baby bag onto his shoulder. With nothing else to say, in fear of breaking down, he flees, securing Sanha against his chest, holding his head against his heart.

The slamming of Haneul’s door rattles through the building’s hallway. Myungjun’s chest is tight and hot, and breathing makes his lungs ache. Once outside, he collapses onto the curb. With a wave of fresh air rolling over him, instantly calming, Myungjun’s tension bursts, into tears.

Carefully, he holds the baby against his chest, making sure Sanha felt no discomfort in his stress. He seems happy enough, gurgling and babbling nonsensically, blinking as the sun glares over his face. Myungjun brings him a little closer, tucking him beneath his chin. He breathes in, feels his entire body relax as he smells that sweet baby scent. It makes his heartbeat calm, cathartic.

Pulling Sanha away from his chest, resting him against his thighs, he sweeps a thumb over Sanha’s velvety soft scalp. “How could he say that, hmm?” He whispers, sniffing. “I think I love you too much.”

He breathes out slowly, feels the rest of the world sink back into his senses. The sound of passing cars, the gentle push of the breeze, the prickle of the midday sun. Sanha’s tiny fist is wrapped up in the collar of Myungjun’s shirt, and he shakes it erratically. “I think I need you just as much as you need me, Sanha,” he chimes.

With that, he clambers himself up from the cement, and they stroll to the bus stop. On the bus ride, Myungjun snuggles his brother in his arms, protecting him from the cool air, from the judgemental eyes on other boarders, holding him close to himself.

When they return home, Myungjun doesn’t bother to unpack the bag as he usually might. Instead, he treads over to his room, tugging off Sanha’s tiny jacket and throwing his little fabric hat aside. He yanks his blankets back, and very carefully, rests the bundle of a baby in the centre of his bed, and pulls the covers back up. He looks so tiny, swimming in the sheets, the tiny pearl within an oyster shell.

With every ounce of caution, Myungjun slips in beside him, resting on his side to face the baby.

“Big day, huh?” He hums, gently patting Sanha’s round tummy. The boy wriggles in delights, and Myungjun continues, carefully creating a soft rhythm.

There is a casual, comfortable, quiet atmosphere. Myungjun had come to get used to it, as Sanha had few audible reactions other than crying or wailing. But, suddenly, the silence is broken, popped by a bubbling little giggle.

From Sanha.

Myungjun stops his patting immediately, retracting his hand back to his side quickly, as if he had touched something hot. He gasps, and Sanha looks up at him with half-moon eyes.

“Sanha… Did you just laugh?” He asks. Myungjun extends his hand again, giving Sanha’s belly another pat, and almost immediately, the baby giggles once more. A tiny, gummy smile stretches between his cheeks; his very first. “Oh! You did! You did laugh!” Myungjun cries, shuffling to sit up.

“Is it funny? Is your big brother funny?” He asks the baby, lifting him up from the sheets and bouncing him a little. Sanha giggles in delight, smiling up at Myungjun, eyes twinkling.

Myungjun sighs happily, bouncing the baby and listening to his sweet giggle ring in the air. “I made the right decision, didn’t I?” He hums, leaning down to press a kiss to Sanha’s tiny, silky head. “I made the best choice.”

With the only positive response he can muster, Sanha seems to agree, with a light giggle.

**Author's Note:**

> hey! you can find me on twitter and tumblr under parkjinchu! hmu!!


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